


Nightmare I

by naboru



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Dark, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vortex doesn’t feel so well after having been put back in the box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twister](https://archiveofourown.org/works/177858) by [ultharkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty). 



> **Continuity:** G1, (Dysfunction AU)  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
> **Note:** Set a bit after [Twister](http://archiveofourown.org/works/177858/chapters/261710).

He flew through the acid rain on Cybertron. The liquid stung on his sensitive rotor blades, and ate away his paint.

He couldn’t even enjoy it. Dread was the most prominent feeling, and made everything freeze inside. It was the dread of being chased, of being prey to something he couldn’t describe. Something he didn’t even know how to identify, but he knew it was there.

It must have been there. Where else would the feeling come from, as though someone – something – was reaching out to him. It was like closely avoiding being caught while the sky became darker and threatened to swallow him.

Thunder rumbled above him, even louder than his rotor blades cutting through the air. The wind increased and he saw lightning flashing dangerously close.

He must be over the Rust Sea. Since Cybertron lost its star, most thunderstorms happened there. It meant there was no chance of landing within a few mechanomiles, and he’d certainly be dead if he was struck by lightning and crashed.

The cold breath of dread and panic crawled over his hydraulic mechanisms and made his joints stiff. The brackets of his rotors started hurting, and then went numb. Even the sting on his blades where the acid hit faded to nothing, probably because the sensor nodes had been destroyed. There weren’t warnings in his HUD, no processor ringing at damaged parts of his body, and bit by bit, the sensations ebbed from his frame.

Only the darkness increased, as did the cold.

But it wasn’t freezing any more, it wasn’t a sensation that entered from outside. It was a cloud over his head, as black and frightening as the thunder clouds over the Rust Sea.

But the thunderstorm wasn’t there. It was gone with every sensation. Even the cold disappeared and the blackness changed into an indescribable non-colour that his optical sensors couldn’t take in and his mind couldn’t process.

Whoever or whatever had chased him had given up. It didn’t follow him to this place where nothing existed. Nothing but dread.

Right then, he’d have liked to be hunted again, threatened with being caught, because it meant someone else was out there. Something other than himself.

He was alone, trapped in this surreal place of non-existence.

Vortex jerked awake.

He was staring at a wall in a dark room. There had to be light somewhere, because he could make out a few details of the wall panels without switching to infra-red. The horror remained in his joints like a coating of brake fluid.

Vortex wanted to run and scream, and at the same time, he didn’t want to move at all.

He wasn’t back in the Detention Center. It was only a sensor echo. A stupid mix of memories from when they were still on Cybertron and when they’d been imprisoned.

The thunderstorm had happened, ages ago, when he was still in the military and they were being trained. Some of his batch mates hadn’t survived. Even the sensations of being chased had been real. He’d been chased so many times in his life, it wasn’t surprising that came up.

He didn’t admit that he'd hardly ever felt the kind of dread that he’d felt in the dream.

Vortex didn’t want to know where it came from, and he didn’t want to recall what it was like to be in the box. The first moments of waking up without being awake. Caught in his own mind without an escape route.

It was cold again. Vortex’ rotor hub was stiff; it hurt in a bad way. It didn’t distract him. It was evidence of how unwell he was. Again.

It had been okay for so long. He’d done well for a long time after the box. Vortex didn’t need to be reminded again. Not when he was supposed to be unable to remember.

His energy field fluctuated strongly, reached out and drew close to his frame again, his signature filled with the intensity of his erratic mind. Vortex was aware that his field touched someone else’s, but maybe that was a sensor echo, too.

Hope wasn’t appropriate when Vortex had been betrayed so many times. When his team had come too late to get him from the Autobots. When they hadn’t stopped them from messing with his helm, and turning the lights out again.

They hadn’t been there.

Someone behind him huffed, a familiar sound accompanied with warm air on stiff rotors. A large, heavy arm wrapped around Vortex’ waist, and moved him. Pressed him closer against strong chest plating as a helm nuzzled against his from behind. 

Blast Off didn’t say anything. He didn’t comment on Vortex’ erratic energy signature and tense frame. But he puffed air from his vents a little stronger than usual, let it blow over Vortex and chased off some of the coldness and dread.

The shuttle’s energy field pulsed slowly, calmly. It must have been an effort for Blast Off to make it appear as though he cared.

It didn’t matter for Vortex if it was fake, that was what he told himself. But for this particular moment, he liked to think that it was honest.

Vortex started to relax, and the dread made room for exhaustion.

This time one of his team was there.


End file.
